


rage, rage against the dying of the light

by glasspeach



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, basically a leg wasn't the only part of ed payment, ed hasn't slept in years, this is basically gonna be dealing w ptsd and various other mental issues so watch out, truth drags him back to his gate to make him do various shit he doesn't wanna
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 09:09:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14787617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasspeach/pseuds/glasspeach
Summary: “We have a word for people like you, y’know.”“People like what? And what ‘we’ are you even talking about?”“The Xingese. We have a word for those with golden eyes and hair. It translates to ‘light-touched’ or ‘truth-made’ or something along those lines, depending on how you use it.”“Okay, one? I didn’t ask. And two? Don’t assume you know anything about me or my brother.”“Ah. But I wasn’t really-”“Actually, three: don’t ever tell me that word.”





	1. one day they'll know just how far we went

**Author's Note:**

> its late but thats basically when i do anything  
> updates aren't on a schedule and this week is gonna b p hectic so we'll see
> 
> thanks for reading!

Sometimes the only thing keeping him awake at night is the silence.

It wouldn’t be so bad if it was actually just quiet for once. He misses the nights back at the farm house when he’d fall asleep to the sound of crickets and rustling leaves. He misses the atmosphere of gentle reassurance that everyone he loved was safe asleep.

He knows better now. Now, the silence keeps him awake because it’s just a blank background for his mind to paint every single fucking mistake he’s ever made and more. At night, he doesn’t need a picture to know the exact contour of his brother’s face when he reached out to him that day. He’s counted every single one of the black snaking arms that tore his brother apart.

The worst thing is that he knows there’s more to come. That his nightmares don’t, _won’t_ end here because there is still so much more work to complete. He has to restore his brother’s body, he needs to report back to command by next week or Colonel Bastard will probably send a squadron after him- _got to make sure the dog hasn’t run off;_  he needs to decode the new set of notes that he and Al found from the Ash alchemist, he needs to-

 

_breathe_

 

Shit, shit, shit, no- he can’t do this right now. He can’t fall asleep, he needs time to prioritize, time to think, time-- but Truth pulls him under. It always does.

Ed succumbs to the terror of sleep.

-

Sometimes, he really thinks it’ll be different. Sometimes he dares to let himself hope that this time, this time, when he falls asleep he’ll go back to the nonsensical dreams of his childhood. He’s never that lucky, and every time he gets to far he desperately reels himself back from that precipice. He knows the value of hope, but it’s only really worth something if you’re hoping for something possible. Hope for something impossible will always, unfailingly let you down; Ed learned his lesson long ago.

So this time, when the All pulls him down, he closes his eyes and lets himself fall. The sensation of nothingness peels back his skin and bursts in his blood vessels, wrapping around his bones and prying into the marrow. In the interim of the fall, in nothing, he can feel every part of his body humming with emptiness and stars. The stars were from his nerve endings sizzling and burning from the vast _cold,_ so deep and internal that once you experience the sensation once, the feeling never fades. The cold breaks him apart, literally shatters his body into crystal shards, and fills something so eternal in the spaces in between that Ed knows he could live a thousand lifetimes and never unknow these secrets.

Just as quickly as it started, his body coalesces once more and his stomach dives as he’s carefully lifted and thrown downward so fast that he makes the nothing space into _something_ and slams onto the floor of Truth’s white domain.

He knows instinctively where he is, so it’s reflex by now to swim in the blazing aftermath of the Ether and force his eyes open to the blankness of All. Ed doesn’t bother to get up or even roll onto his back anymore; everything aches and burns too icy-bright. But the ache of being deconstructed in the Ether isn’t why he doesn’t get up. He’s been sleeping too long to not expect Truth sitting to his right, some few yards ahead of him.

 


	2. in the light of the fireflies, kneel before the coming dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhh its been a while????? LMAO I'm def sorry this took so long, but thank you guys so much for the lovely kudos n comments, they inspired me to get moving!!!!  
> Also, as a side note, this will be based more on ed's adventures than events in actual canon, but they do carry over a TON!!!! i just likely won't be rewriting canon stuff for a bit bc I'm more interested in ed's character and introducing new elements than writing old ones already established. which isn't to say i won't explore canon (and likely shove it through a shredder) just that its not currently the main focus!!  
> also, all of this is currently un-beta'd, so apologies for the mistakes!!

It’s likely been some time since the last trip here, but he can’t always tell. Ed measures his visits with Truth by how much time has passed when he wakes up. This is a somewhat skewed timetable, since he tries to put off sleep as much as he can through a mixture of coffee and determination, not to mention that time doesn’t exist in a physical sense in Truth’s domain. Although he can have long, begrudging conversations with the All for what feels like only a few minutes, hours can have passed in the real world, and vice versa.

All of this, though, isn’t why Ed hates sleep so much. Hell, maybe he could even deal with the Ether every night if it was only just that. But quotidianly, he is dragged back to this blank hell to be face-to-face with the one thing he wishes he never had to see again. 

What’s worse, is that the All never even bothers to answer his questions about the philosopher’s stone or other possible methods for getting their bodies back. He can only remember once, one of the first times he had been dragged here; he had finally come to terms with the fact that this hellscape was not a twisted nightmare and instead- real, complete with God itself at center stage. When he had questioned why he was there, Truth had merely responded that his price was not complete at a single leg or arm. Instead, it had told him evasively, he was to be working off the rest of his toll here. Then, in a complete one-eighty, had asked him how he felt about the ocean.

Now, in the blank light of Truth, Ed finally musters up the strength to roll onto his back, groaning aloud at the spears of lightning down his spine. In an effort to ignore the insistence of the All, Ed blearily drapes his flesh arm over his face, relishing in the darkness. Unfortunately, this is also the time when Truth decides to speak up, annoyingly chipper for 3:28 in the morning.

“I know you’re tired, little alchemist, but there’s work to be done and time waits for none.”

Ed’s eyes flicker open as he stares up at the underside of his arm. He really, really  _ fucking _ hopes that Truth did _ not mean for that to rhyme _ . He’s already developing a headache and he’s been here for what feels like less than a few minutes.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have much time together today. We have a break in the universe to fix!” Truth grins with a disturbing amount of teeth.

Already used to this, Ed only glowers at the bright silhouette. “Don’t give me that bullshit. You and I both know time only exists here when you want it to.” Ed does his best to ignore the last bit of that sentence; although he’d love to know the details, he already has enough on his plate.

Truth only giggles, the harsh dissonance like the wrong note accidently played in the middle of a melody.

“I think you’re being too pessimistic about this, little alchemist. Trust me! This time you’ll like it, I promise,” they raise a hand, “and if you don’t, may the gods strike me down where I stand.”

Already fully done with all of Truth’s bullshit, Ed resists the urge to scream into his arm.

“One,” he grinds out, “gods, deities, or anything vaguely resembling an all powerful being does. Not. Exist.”

Truth tuts disapprovingly, “To say that to my face, when I’m right in front of you. How hurtful.”

“And two,” Ed says, louder, “I don’t trust promises from a being that makes a living making  _ my life _ miserable.”

Truth handily ignores him. “Well, little alchemist, we’ve nearly stayed here too long here. Time to go!” Without even letting Ed stand, Truth drops him back into time again.

The sensation of moving through space and light is and will always be a challenge for Ed to articulate in words. He’s read up on theories that make it sound like you are compressed and pulled into pieces, but it’s either nothing like the real thing, or Truth exists to be contrary. The best that he could describe it is fracturing into a thousand pieces while the world twists itself around him, folding him through a million mirrors simultaneously while spinning his eyes around in the other direction. He falls into reality again, and presses his eyes shut in hopes of blocking out any and all feeling. When he opens them again, he doesn’t open to the blankness of Truth’s realm, but to blinding light and a buzzing in his ears.

He tentatively coughs, and for a moment can’t feel the sensation rattle through his body. Panic flickers through a clouded screen, and he idly wonders if this is how Al felt when he first woke up in the suit of armor, and feeling returns quickly enough to let his heart drop out of his stomach.

Blinking blearily, Ed tries to wash the light out of his vision while staggering desperately on his feet like a newborn deer. Truth, of course, does nothing to help.

As he regains his senses, he hazily blinks the dots out of his sight. He glances down first, making sure he’s on stable ground before even thinking about trying to look around. He’ll never forget the time when Truth left him on an unstable ledge and hovered away from his fallen form after he had crashed below, calling at him to hurry up while flickering away.

Satisfied that he has stable ground underneath his feet, Ed chances looking around and has to look again; the ground he’s on doesn’t seem quite so stable anymore with indefinite drops on either side of him.

Ed breathes out unsteadily, calming his heart before taking stock of the situation. He seems to be on some sort of a slim bridge, without handholds or railings to shield from the fall on the sides. The bridge, on closer inspection, seems to be made completely of white marble. Sunlight filters down through leaves from high above, lighting the space with a quiet lime ambient light. Although the only sunlight seems to be coming from above, the area around Ed seems to be lit with the reflected lighting. He doesn’t see any walls or area on the sides of the walkway; instead the area is filled with leaves that seem to reach for the bridge but never touch. A couple meters to his left side, Ed spies a marble arch that the leaves have nearly overtaken, reaching over his head and disappearing into the foliage on his right. Ed starts, only now realizing that the columns encase the bridge in a ribcage as best he can see ahead and behind himself with the leaves blocking most of the marble. Ahead of him, the bridge extends like a tunnel into limelight with the leaves hanging like makeshift walls.

While Ed has been orienting himself into the new environment, Truth has already drifted a few meters in front of him in a cross-legged position. The leaves seem to be actively avoiding the area around the vague entity, and Ed doesn’t blame them.

“Well? Come on, little alchemist, while you’re enjoy the view, I’m getting impatient.” Ed sincerely thinks that Truth can’t feel any emotion either than vindication or smug satisfaction, but he doesn’t voice the opinion, instead opting to follow into the tunnel of leaves. He desperately hopes he can cover his growing annoyance with Truth by his curiosity of the location, otherwise, or he might end up attempting to strangle Truth before he wakes up again.

“Hey,” Ed asks, in lieu of nothing else to do, “are we still even on the same planet? Or very least, in the same universe?” Truth’s grin only grows impossibly wider as it twists its head around a full 180 degrees. Ed makes a silent pact to never ask it anything ever if Truth is turned away from him, while resigning himself to the fact that he’s very likely to do it again. Instead of letting this transaction show on his face, Ed just glares into Truth’s eyeless face and growls, “I was hoping, you bastard, that this would  _ at least _ be a place I could even  _ mark on a map _ .” Truth  _ knows _ how much he hates going places far away from Al; it makes him feel disconnected. Disoriented. Out of align. And because Truth is an  _ asshole _ , it does it’s best to drag him to the farthest reaches of the universe, just to test him. The first couple times it happened, Ed blacked out, and then had a few successive panic attacks. Truth, of course, was no help at all, because Truth is a dick.

Seemingly sensing this internal rage, Truth lets out a discordant giggle that disrupts the foliage around them. Ed really,  _ really _ wishes Truth would stop doing that. 

Miraculously, though, even the wrongness of Truth can’t disturb the peace of the walkway. Something about the area seems patient, like even gods couldn’t harm the quiet. Ed decides that he likes the place just from that, even if it wasn’t beautiful. The sheer stubbornness to not be marred earns his respect, especially in the face of a being like Truth.

Ed’s footsteps seem too loud in the calm, and it feels almost sacrilegious to walk so loudly in Truth’s silent wake. His steps don’t echo, necessarily, but they stand in contrast to the shifting of the leaves impiously. For the first time, he notices his clothing. A simple white button-up with the top couple buttons undone, and comfortable cotton brown pants that end around his calves. Ed glances up again to make sure he’s still following Truth, and switches his attention back to the swish of the fabric as he walks. He’s either used to wearing tight leather or stiffly pressed pants, and the softness of the fabric feels foreign. But, he thinks, not bad. It’s just that they’re… more light than he’s used to wearing. Almost relaxing. They even feel nicer than his pajama clothes, which, to be fair, are only a tank top and shorts. Ed shoots another glance at Truth for dressing him in this, wondering if he was wearing this from the beginning, but also oddly grateful for the smooth coolness of the clothing.

He only has a bare couple of milliseconds to feel grateful for the clothes before he’s reminded of just how much he hates Truth, and only a few milliseconds of hate before it’s all washed away in self-disgust. How can Ed even dare to be grateful for this when Alphonse can’t even feel  _ anything _ to begin with? He can’t even enjoy the scratch of a fleece blanket, so why is Ed indulging himself in such simple luxury? 

Ed blinks, startled out of thought by a ringing in his ears. Doubling over, he staggers to the side, clutching his head. With a snap, the noise stops just in time for Ed to catch himself on the edge of the bridge; without a railing to hold onto, he desperately windmills his arms to steady himself. Truth just looks on, unrepentant. “Well? Your emotions are getting in the way, little alchemist.”

Ed grits his teeth as the last of the buzz dies off in his head, drunkenly scrambling away from the edge. It takes a few deep breaths to feel like he can think clearly again, and a few more to calm his anger as he grinds his palms into his temples and stares once more at the retreating shadow. He takes a deep breath. Then two; three. 

He follows Truth through the leaves.

 

-

 

Liore is and was a pain. Bright in the way that fire is, or staring at the sun. The harshness of the light dulls the townspeople’s senses and blinds them to the corruption in their quaint town. The noon sun does no good deed for the heat, and Ed can feel himself burning, but only peripherally. Sticking his hands in the fire is less of a hazard for Ed than for others.

Scar, as well, is a reoccurring pain. Ed still can barely think of that traumatizing night without a slight shiver down his spine and a swooping feeling in his stomach. Sometimes, he thinks he can hear the nuances of Al’s voice telling him that he’s an idiot particularly well if he thinks hard enough about the rain.

The homunculi are a pain, but also a mystery he’s desperate to solve. Despite knowing about them, he doesn’t have all the pieces. It infuriates him as much as it worries him.

Thinking about Nina just hurts. He always tries his best not to, but can’t help himself. Al says he should stop blaming himself, and he’s likely right. But it’s hard to not blame himself when he knows he could have done more. When the facts were right in front of him and Ed couldn’t, didn’t connect the pieces. When the warnings surrounded him but he choose to stay blind.

Thinking about Sensei hurts too, but in a sweeter way. The pain doesn’t bite as much. At the very least, she’s alive and happy and content working as a butcher. Ed’s accidently thought of her when he remembered their mother before. He was surprised to find that he didn’t mind that as much as he thought he would. 

Mei, Lan Fan and Fu are generally safe subjects. It’s Ling he hates. He’s only cursed Truth and his father more than that stubborn prince. (He would be safe if he just  _ listened _ to Ed. If he found out his goal was created from pain, and fear, why continue chasing? (Ed knows. He knows what people will do to protect those they love. He can’t blame Ling, not really, and he hates himself for it.))

Most of all, he thinks about Al and their quest. Ever since finding out about the philosopher’s stone, the desire shriveled away until it was pushed onto a backburner. Once, making one was all he could think about. Now, Ed tries his best not to think about stones at all.

It would be better if he stopped thinking, if his emotions had some kind of switch that he could turn off. Nowadays, Ed hates thinking.

(Ed hates feeling.)

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, ur comments DEFINITELY made my day and they are they fuel for my writing, so please leave a review if u can!! i would love for my writing to be solar powered but modern tech isn't there yet so u gotta bear w me for now <3<3<3<3  
> thank you for reading!!!!!


	3. beneath bedrock, they thrive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry its been so long!! life has been. pretty shitty honestly. a lot has been happening, and its been difficult to write with everything going on. my apologies for not getting this chapter out sooner. rest assured, im still on my bullshit!

The leaves in front of him start reaching in on the pathway, still faithfully avoiding the blurry outline of Truth. Ed, though, has to brush the branches out his face. The space starts to get crowded, all of the foliage trying to crowd into the way like the brush of hands, reaching out. Ed takes to brushing the leaves snapping back in the wake of Truth, feeling strangely calm. Usually something like this would annoy him, but he can’t help but feel calm in the soft light.

The branches crowd him enough that he can barely see the All in front of him, and Ed hurries faster, brushing leaves out of his face with increasing urgency. Before he can register the change, he’s bursting out of the density into open air. He doesn’t see Truth, but what he does see-

Takes his breath away.

Tree limbs unfold around him and leaves hang in open space, the bright lime and white gold illuminating twisting, dizzying pathways of branches. The marble path continues on a few meters ahead of him, but reaches a hexagonal platform and branches off on each side. Each pathway is disconnected from the middle platform by a few feet of open air, making it so that once would need to take a running jump to get to the other side. Just like his own, each bridge is enveloped with a set of marble arches. He slows, hoping that Truth won’t blink out and just leave again as he tries to take in the scenery once more. Quickly, he glances uneasily at Truth’s shape, hoping he doesn’t have to cross the gap. Fortunately, Truth’s distorted silhouette stops in front of the gap, not bothering to turn to meet him. He wavers behind, unnerved by the inhumanely precise stop Truth takes and some other, buried survival instincts he didn’t even know he had.

“Walk.”

Ed balks at the command. “Excuse me?” This has to be some kind of joke, or test.

Truth still does not turn around, but simply repeats the command. “Walk forward.”

Something slithers down his joints and fits in the spaces between, something crawling that slides into his bone marrow and buries itself between his cells. There is no explanation for knowing what he does, but if he does not walk forward, he will regret the consequences. It’s a promise that grips the back of his neck everytime he sleeps.

Ed’s hands shake as he starts walking again. Nerves ripple and metal hums softly. He wishes desperately for his arm, his leg or both to start malfunctioning. Neither does. Truth does not look at him as he approaches or when he reaches its side, but Ed knows it doesn’t need to. Is Truth asking him to kill himself here? What will happen if he does? What will he receive in return? Surely this has to be some sort of equivalent exchange. Maybe it will finally tell him more about how to restore Al’s body if he does. But he’s woken up with bruises from falls on their ‘trips’. His broken body is sure to lie in his bed for Al if he does this. The edge creeps closer. The marble ribcage surrounding the pathway stops here. He knows, intrinsically that he will not stop. Truth’s commands are like dares that will personally reap the rewards if he does not comply.

His left foot reaches the edge, and his other reaches the air in front of it. Gravity takes its hold.

He does not fall.

His feet must have triggered some sort of mechanism at the edge, because the stone reaches out to complete itself with each step he takes. Marble flows like water into unseen grooves in thin air, a pattern of small hexagons that are filled in one by one, each separate from one another. He can feel the spaces under his bare feet. Each tile is at least a few inches away from the others, just enough to make him uneasy that somehow he will fall through the cracks, even though his feet are too big to fit. He stumbles, stubbing his toe against the side of a tile before he can catch himself. Ed hisses and grunts, but he does not stop. Snapping his head back to the center platform, he watches the path in front of himself form in his peripheral vision as he walks. The marble under his feet is cool, and the air in between just slightly colder.

Truth says nothing.

He reaches the edge and stops, finally, on cool stone. Ed turns around.

Truth stares back.

He turns back to the platform, torn somewhere between crying and falling to his knees. Doing either will likely inconvenience Truth. More than anything right now, he wished someone else was here with him, as selfish as it was. He knows that even if he could he would never subject someone else to this, but the relief that would come from not being alone carves a space for itself somewhere between his heart and the pit of his stomach. His throat swells closed on its own, so Ed breathes through his nose as he walks forward.

Over the years, Ed had been asked to do relatively simple to exceedingly complex tasks. Most came in the form of elaborate, life size puzzles: interlocking bricks and refracting light. He presses his palms against the stone.

Light erupts in straight lines through the stone, flowing like water away from his palms. There was some untold reason for his constant work, but Ed couldn’t for the life of himself work out what it was. For all the knowledge Truth had instilled within him, no cohesive reason formed. Everywhere he performed the necessary tasks, the landscape, the atmosphere, the tasks- all differed. The pathways receded. He once wondered if there were others that Truth employed others- alchemists who had also committed the taboo. If the All did so, Al would also be here with him, unless his lack of a physical body prevented his help. If that was so, then he at least one reason to be grateful for Al’s current form, no matter how bitter it made him. The platform he’s kneeling on descends, through the sloping limbs.

He feels as though at some point it should hit the branches, but nothing even needs to move around them to create room. It's impossibly convenient. The descent is silent, with only the rustling of leaves and the occasional strange sound of birdsong within the calm. Ed doesn't see any birds, but he's content to not venture into the foliage. Despite the beauty, he doesn't trust any entity he might encounter. Often, many creatures rely on these shrine things for protection, shelter, or even food and water. They aren't often happy when he comes in. Even if he doesn't meet them at the shrines, many lurk around. He doesn't know why, although he might have a few ideas. Ed knows full well that he doesn't belong here; always keen on leaving when a task is done. There is no reason for him to stay.

The platform finally slows, and sets itself into a larger hexagon with a cookie cutter shape without a sound. There isn't even a bevel or an edge where the stone meets. Standing slowly, he glances around for- something. A cosmic sign, or maybe some directions would be perfect. As he turns to his left, a simple step of rectangular stone hovers in place. Good enough. 

The moment he cautiously sets his foot down, a path rapidly enfolds in scattered, thin flat stones with a width a little less than the length of his foot. It slopes in a slight incline farther into the forest, and Ed can't suppress a sigh. He had really hoped this would be a quick job.

A quick, wobbly hop takes him to the next step. As the path begins to level out, the steps start getting farther apart. Some only float as pieces of rubble in the air, or don't exist entirely, forcing him to use the tree limbs curving around and through the path. He wobbles and hops and occasionally slips, but eventually the trees give way enough that once he ducks under a huge branch, an intersection of branches reveals itself, larger than a rooftop. Marble twines itself into the wood, with cracks of brilliant gold veins shining through. At the intersection of five massive branches, the marble coalesces into a smooth, unmarred bowl. Water fills the marble, as clear and inert as glass. As Ed hops down onto the bark, he walks around the pool uneasily. There are no creatures inside. No aquatic life resides, not even plants or insects. Ed gets the feeling that nothing has ever lived in this water.

But the next step is underwater, waiting. He has to go in.

“God _fucking_ dammit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbetad, so if there are any typos, please lmk! <3


End file.
